


ten percent luck

by kiyala



Category: Brick (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Brain didn't get his name by accident, and he knows that he's got a role to play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ten percent luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [piecrumbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piecrumbs/gifts).



> I should have gone to sleep two hours ago but no, have some word vomit about Brendan and the Brain instead.

They say that actions speak louder than words and Brendan Frye in the perfect example. His words are used sparingly, chosen carefully, the right words for the right people in the right situation gets him a long way and he's learned that a long time ago. Use your words infrequently enough and people won't be able to predict you by them. Use your words when you have to and people will be more interested in reading whatever meanings they want into them that they'll be distracted from what Brendan is actually doing.

The Brain didn't get his name by accident, and he knows that he's got a role to play. Life is like a stage and Brendan isn't the star of the show. Save that for the drama vamps of the world, who can go from loving to cold in the blink of an eye. Brendan is behind the scenes in theatre blacks so that nobody sees him unless he wants them to. He's the stage manager, the one that's _really_ in charge and people don't see that because they don't want to, because he doesn't let them. It works just fine for Brendan.

If Brendan is the stage manager, the Brain is the one behind all the props, the lighting, the effects. They say that humans only use ten percent of their brains but it turns out _they_ don't know shit about the brain. It's all about storing information, knowing where it is, grabbing it, compiling it, putting it all together until it makes sense and it all happens in the blink of an eye, the information ready exactly when it's needed. It looks effortless and it's meant to. The Brain supposes that it's the whole reason behind the ten percent myth in the first place. Be efficient enough at what you're doing and people will assume that you're not doing enough to be suspicious.

It's kept the Brain out of trouble countless times in the past. If he doesn't look like he isn't doing anything, then nobody can point their finger in his direction. People might see Brendan's actions, but they only ever see the Brain's work. Only ever his finished product and it's easy working with Brendan, easy because it's so predictably stressful. Brendan calls an op and the Brain prepares himself for sleepless nights. Brendan asks for an end result, and the Brain takes care of the process. 

Brendan doesn't thank the Brain, not until it's over and they can relax, and the Brain wouldn't have it any other way. Being thanked for a half-finished job is like appreciating a half-complete thought. It's pointless until it reaches its conclusion, until the conclusion _means_ something. Brendan is good at finding meaning, probably has the meaning for half the thoughts that are still forming in the Brain's head. It's why they work together so well and the Brain knows that the pressure isn't good for him, that the fear of failing Brendan is what keeps him awake through the night when they're working on something. He'll stare at the ceiling, ignoring the red digits on his bedside alarm clock, and think about how Brendan probably isn't sleeping either, is most likely still out wandering around somewhere looking for the information he's after, whatever it may be. The Brain thinks about Brendan wandering into the wrong places for answers, and sleep goes from being a distant concept to completely off the table.

He's called the Brain because he works and works and nobody sees it, nobody even knows it, but the thing is, he's only human and he's scared and he's exhausted and he's _scared_ because he can't let Brendan down, there's too much riding on this—on whatever they're doing—to mess up and it's a constant fear that sneaks up on him in bed, or coils itself around the cellphone he's stolen from his mother yet again because Brendan might say _borrow_ but they both know what would happen if the Brain asks. 

He crashes by the end of it, needing sleep as badly as Brendan does, hiding it better by which he means hiding it at all. He'll slink home after a day of trying not to fall asleep in class and if he's lucky, his mother won't be home because she's working late. If he's particularly lucky, Brendan will be there, looking just as worn out except for the softness to his eyes that says he's spent his day sleeping off his exhaustion the way the Brain wishes he had.

"You did good," Brendan tells him, same as he does every time they're done. "Thanks, Brain. Come on, let's get some sleep."

The Brain's bed is narrow and barely built to fit the one person, but they both squeeze into it, Brendan sitting against the wall and the Brain lying down, no longer possessing the energy to hold himself upright.

"You know why I started calling you the Brain?" Brendan asks, because even if nobody else realises that he's the one behind it, he is. Just like with everything else, working behind the scenes until he wants to be noticed. 

High school is interesting because people pick things up without questioning them. It's not like he's the brains of the operation because the ideas come from Brendan. All the Brain does is push until Brendan makes a plan of attack with a proper conclusion, and then do what needs to be done to get them there. 

The Brain hums. He's too tired to puzzle it out, wonders how the hell Brendan isn't. 

"You're called the Brain because I need you," Brendan tells him, pulling his thick-framed glasses off and folding them, setting them aside on the bedside table. "Because people don't quite get you. Not even me."

The Brain has another name. The one that his mother uses, that some of the teachers try to use, despite the fact that he doesn't respond to it. Even the people who don't know him know him as the Brain.

"You get me," the Brain murmurs, feeling sleep blur the edges of his consciousness. "You get me better than everyone else, so there's that. You get me."

Brendan huffs quietly, in his not-amused, not-annoyed way. 

"Go to sleep, Brain."

The Brain goes to sleep.


End file.
